


How We Got To Where We Are

by thlayli_rah



Series: The Boys from Letterkenny [2]
Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, I hope not you either, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Substance Abuse, all these questions and more shall be answered, also I started writing this BEFORE season 4 came out, also where the fuck did Squirrelly Dan come from, and then I watched season 4 after it was pretty much done, anyway who gives a fuck, bar fights and drunk nights, enjoy my attempt to figure out what happened to all the parents in this show, how is Wayne so young and owns such a huge piece of property, it's you, not me, pitter patter let's get at er, which is why there's no great little anecdote about Darry being a line-dance champ, who's ready to read a character's entire life journey in less than 8000 words???, you're ready
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thlayli_rah/pseuds/thlayli_rah
Summary: Darry's known Wayne pert near his entire fuckin' life. And d'you wanna know what? It's not always been easy, bein' in love with the Toughest Guy in Letterkenny.Please leave comments! I love comments!!





	How We Got To Where We Are

They’ve known each other since they were ‘bout knee-high, and Darry can’t quite recall a time predatin’ that; the two of ‘em used to sit out in the blue plastic kiddie pool Wayne’s Ma filled with water from the garden hose, what was so cold yer nads shrivelled up to raisins; but it was alright, ‘cos Summers always seem like they was hotter, when you look back on bein’ a kid. There’d been a Before, when Katy usedta sit in the pool too, and nobody looked twice at anybody else, when Darry didn’t think ‘bout the fact that he was hardly ever ‘round his own house, or the fact that his Ma wasn’t doin’ the things Wayne’s Ma did.

She always told him not to smile with his teeth ‘cos it makes him look simple; and sometimes the kids in school call him slow— but Wayne never lets him feel like that’s the case ‘less he says somethin’ really thick— like askin’ who puts the water in the back pond. 

 

Once, Darry gets the idea that they should get the boys in the neighbourhood together and see how many snakes they can catch; Wayne drags out his plastic garbage can what with the lid on it, and fer pert near two whole days they have ‘round ten kids huntin’ through the bush fer snakes— that is, ’til Wayne’s Dy-ad went to go take out the garbage and discovered ‘bout fifty snakes in his bin. He dumped ‘em in the middle of the road— the ladies in town were findin’ ‘em in their milk crates a week later. Was the first time Wayne’s Dy-ad ever whupped Darry, and sure as tits on a cow, Darry made it the last.

 

The infamous super soft unicorn birthday is Darry’s twelfth, and Wayne thinks it’s funny as Bob and Doug McKenzie to watch Darry don a pointed birthday hat and a bright orange lei to sit on top the godawful monstrosity what is a horse with a foam spike stuck to its head. He never quite was the same after that.

 

Darry gets his first bicycle from the amity, but he never tells nobody ‘cept Wayne— who has one of them fancy ten-speed numbers what with the water bottle holder. The first time they take ‘em out, Darry pert near has a conniption tryin’ to get it up the hill leadin’ to the quarry; at first Wayne sits atop the hill and chirps him fer it, until they both realize there’s a hole in Darry’s tire, and the chain damn near rusts right off there in the dirt. Wayne’s ten-speed is hooked up to Darry’s back porch the next mornin’, and the two of them never talk about it. Wayne starts ridin’ around on Katy’s Rocky Mountain— nothin’ shabby ‘bout that.

They take ‘em to the quarry most of the time; huckin’ rocks into the pit never seems to get old, and sometimes they sit with their legs hangin’ over the edge and argue ‘bout whether or not you’d survive the fall to the bottom. 

 

Katy is Darry’s first crush; pert near every boy in Letterkenny was sweet on her at some point— ‘sides Wayne and a couple’a guys drivin’ their trucks on the other side of the road. It comes to a halt in a hot minute, though, after Katy calls him out in fronta the whole class in ninth grade for gettin’ a stiffy durin’ the national anthem. When she tells Wayne, he ‘bout splits a stitch laughin’ so hard, tellin’ Darry that he’s taken patriotism a run too far up the road. She never quite stops talkin’ down her nose to him from that moment on, and Darry knows ya can’t ever shack up with a girl what thinks of you as an embarrassing kid brother, so the feelings die and Darry lets ‘em.

 

First time Darry shoots anythin’, it’s a groundhog in the back bush. He’s fairly certain that everybody ‘spected him to get all weepy, but he cracks it right in the back of the neck and tosses the corpse at Wayne like it’s a snowball.

Folks ‘round town start callin’ Wayne’s place, lookin’ fer Darry, when they’ve got a coon in their attic or a rattler what’s curled itself up in the chicken coop. Wayne comes along on most of these expeditions, an’ the two of them sit outside a couple’a folks houses with .22s on their laps, on lawn chairs, waitin’ for a stray fox or coyote to come by what’s been botherin’ the residents. Darry’s a better shot’n Wayne, but Wayne’s faster, so between the two of ‘em they always get their vermin. It never occurs to either of ‘em to start askin’ folks to pay fer it. ‘Sides, Darry kinda likes it when the town ladies bring ‘em out lemonade or sandwiches and chat real nice with them. It reminds him of how his Ma used to do.

 

It’s not more’n two days into the school year when Darry walks outside and sees his bike— Wayne’s 10-speed —hangin’ from the maple in the school yard. Woulda taken two, maybe three kids to do it; the handlebars are lodged between the trunk and two branches, the back wheel danglin’ most six feet offa the ground. Someone lets slip it was a few of the hockey players from the twelfth grade. Darry tries for ‘round an hour, but he can’t get it down. He walks home.

It’s not so much ‘bout the kids bein’ mean to him; he starts thinkin’ about how he used the computer in the library one time to look up how much a brand new 10-speed would cost, and it’s more’n he’s ever seen bundled together at once. Wayne’d given up his own birthday present fer Darry, and now it’s stuck up a tree. He can’t face the thought of tellin’ Wayne, so he hides out in the gravel pit.

Wayne shows up around eleven, when the bugs are startin’ to swarm, and finds Darry still cryin’, his feet in the pond. Wayne’s face is all beat to hell; so he explains that the hockey players thought he was funny showin’ up and askin’ fer a fight, right up until he cracked their lineman in the face and gave him a nosebleed. He definitely came off worse, but they knew he meant business.

Darry looks up at Wayne, his face all bloodied to shit, his plaid shirt ruined. Sixteen years old and almost Herculean in that moment. Wayne reaches down and fer a second Darry thinks he’s gonna get a hug or somethin’, ‘fore Wayne gives him a shove and sends him sputterin’ into the water.

‘What the hell ya cryin’ fer? Ain’t no reason to get excited.’

Darry looks up at him, still lying in the pond. ‘I lost yer bike,’

‘S’yer bike, Big Shoots. ‘Sides, two of us can get’er down faster’n you can get it up durin’ Oh Canada.’ He extends his whole arm abruptly, and Darry takes his hand. Wayne’s strong enough Darry’s shoulder almost comes right out the socket, but when he’s on his two feet again Wayne gives one of his rare, full-face grins.

‘Don’t say nothin’ to nobody, but one of ‘em had the windows on his truck cracked so I stuck a coon in there.’

‘Well if that ain’t somethin’ a de-gen would do,’

‘Yah, but they fucked with my pal, so they’s deserve it.’

This time, Darry doesn’t know how to make the feelings die.

 

When they’re old enough to start bein’ a real help ‘round the farm, Wayne’s Dy-ad starts payin’ Darry ten bucks an hour to be a farmhand. Darry never thinks twice ‘bout the fact that his hard-earned money goes to the mason jar sittin’ on the kitchen table; his Ma scoops into it and sometimes she’ll come back with groceries.

Wayne hits his growth spurt ‘round sixteen, when Darry’s just gettin’ over his Oh Canada phase, and his voice gets real impressive, what almost soundin’ like John Wayne sometimes. Darry starts gettin’ worried that Wayne’ll cut hangin’ out with him after that, but if the thought ever occurs to Wayne, he don’t say nothin’ ‘bout it.

Darry starts turnin’ his back to Wayne when they strip down to their starkers to go fer a dip in the gravel pit in the summertime after a day of hay, and starts keepin’ his eyes on the dirt, ‘cos he ain’t too sure if he’s s’posedta wanna catch a better look or not.

Sometimes the two of them go runnin’ ‘cross the neighbour’s cauliflower rows; it takes a bit of a trick gettin’ the rhythm down right, havin’ to high-step it so yer foot didn’t catch on one of the stalks— and Wayne never seems able to make it more’n a quarter through the field ‘fore he starts laughin’ his head off like the dentist’d gave him funny gas. They’re a pretty close match most times, and Darry wins ‘bout as many races as he loses; but sometimes he’ll drop back and watch Wayne finish first, tumblin’ into a somersault at the end of the field. He’ll spring up onto his feet, his hair all mussed and his shirt untucked from the exertion, and Darry sees the same prettiness in Wayne what he sees in a good field of barley or sunny blue sky.

 

First time he gets drunk, Darry’s just turned fifteen, and he’s stolen a bottle of Gus’n’Bru from Ma’s liquor cabinet; she’s been ‘round the bend so often lately, Darry knows she wouldn’t notice even if he drank it in front of her. They sit underneath the weepin’ tree smokin’ darts, playin’ euchre and fuckin’ up card tricks, Darry doin’ his damnedest to not let the toll of the whiskey show. The two of ‘em still wearin’ their party hats— but this birthday’d been thrown by Wayne and Katy, ‘cos Darry’s Ma has been kinda preoccupied.

Darry almost lets slip that he’s startin’ to see why all the girls ‘round school are always sayin’ _hi Wayne_ in that voice with all the eyelash battin’ and gigglin’, but he manages to clamp a lid on it by takin’ a too-heavy swig of whiskey after Wayne asks Darry what he thinks ‘bout Angie.

 

When winter rolls ‘round the two of ‘em start tilts with one another by shovin’ ice down the back of the other’s snowsuit. Darry’s got better aim than Wayne, and more’n once Wayne gets nailed in the face by some fresh powder from pert near thirty paces. It always ends up with a wressle in the snow, both of their faces flush and their socks wet.

Wayne’s folks won’t let them take the sleds out unsupervised, which Darry always thinks was bass-ackwards, seein’ as how Wayne’s been drivin’ the combine since he was fourteen, but to be fair, there’s a lot more stupid stuff ya’s could get into by drivin’ around in a sled. They take the toboggan ‘round the quarry and ride down the slopes nearby— Katy squished in the middle of ‘em —and bail out at last second so they don’t hit any of the trees at the bottom of the hill. Once, Darry gets out a second too late and busts his collarbone. Wayne’s Dy-ad ain’t too pleased ‘bout havin’ to shovel his truck out in order to drive Daryl to the hospital.

Wayne starts bringin’ Angie ‘round after a little while, and Darry starts havin’ to ride down the hill by himself on the lid of a garbage can ‘cos there’s not enough room for four of ‘em on the toboggan and it wouldn’t’a been polite to ask one of the girls to go down alone. It’s still fun, but Darry never goes near as fast.

 

In February of that year, Wayne finally gets his G1 and offers to drive ‘em all up to the bowlin’ alley to celebrate. Darry stops off at home to see if he can borrow a tenner from his Ma so he can rent shoes, when he quite literally trips over her legs in the dark. She’d gone and stuck her head in the oven while he’d been out. Darry’s not even able to call the police; she didn’t pay the phone bill. The neighbours live five minutes up the road; Wayne drives up in the truck to use their landline.

Katy holds Darry’s hand in the sectioned-off area of the ER for people who aren’t waiting for news. They’ve been there for most an hour when Darry gets up and leaves; he figures they all think he’s goin’ to have a cry in the restroom or somethin’, but Wayne finds him six hours later, asleep in the house, still smellin’ like gas.

Darry gets in his first real tilt at school ‘bout two weeks later, after Alexander makes a callous joke what callin’ Darry’s Ma Mrs. Easy Bake Oven. He splits his right knuckle right down to the bone on the guy’s tooth and starts sailin’ in with his left ’til Wayne pulls him off; the kid’s face is a pulp and Darry’d broken Alexander’s hand from stompin’ on it in his work boots. He gets suspended fer a week— but Wayne’s folks pay him fer a whole day’s hay ‘round the farm, so it could be worse.

 

Wayne’s folks hire Squirrelly Dan that Spring after his Dy-ad gets laid up from a broken foot after droppin’ the push-disc on it. Dan takes ‘em out on the canoe to go fishin’ and tells ‘em stories that pert near make ‘em both wanna crawl inside the spare parts cleaner afterwards, like the one about the ripper from Toronto who knew how to blow bubbles with her pooter, or the time he hoovered so much schneef that the next mornin’ he woke up on his buddy’s lawn in Michigan.

 

Usedta be that on Friday nights Darry and Wayne would drive up to the Go-Karts over in Trowbridge and get half-cut before doin’ the track more times’n they were s’posed to— but Wayne starts spendin’ his Fridays takin’ Angie to the Jamboree or the drive-in.

Wayne graduates that year and nobody ever asks him what he wanted to do, ‘cos everybody already knows he’s a lifer on the farm. He never would kiss’n’tell, but Angie spills to a couple’a her friends and pretty soon everybody knows that the two of ‘em went toe-curlin’ under the weepin’ tree on grad night. Darry’s almost glad that Wayne won’t talk about it, ‘cos he ain’t even sure if he wants to hear.

Not too soon after that Darry has a bit of “how’s yer father” with a girl from Up Country who’s brother is on the meth, and Squirrelly Dan doesn’t make fun of him too bad fer poppin’ his cherry almost a year after Katy’d done it.

 

That summer, the first time Wayne walks out the house with cuttoff shorts and no shirt Darry gets so hard he has to go’n mix a batch in the barn right that minute.

 

Wayne’s nineteen when he gets in a fight with some city skid what’s been pushin’ up on McMurray’s girlfriend at the time. Normally that’d be McMurray’s job, but he’s workin’ the graveyard shift at the factory so’s ain’t there to see it happen. Wayne gives the guy a warnin’ on the off-chance he’s got more smarts than his ponytail would otherwise have a fella assume.

‘She your girlfriend, hick?’

‘Hard no, she’s my buddy’s.’

‘Well then why do you give a fuck?’ And his hand goes up her shirt without so much as askin’ fer the time.

 

Wayne takes him out back and clunks a good one ‘gainst the dink’s nose; thing starts leakin’ like the faucet in the bar bathroom. It’s ‘round that time that the taekwondoughnut hauls out a knife; ‘fore anybody can react, though, Wayne’s tackled him to the ground and pummelled him outta his ponytail.

‘I’ll tell ya somethin’ ya might find pretty interestin’,’ Wayne says, kneelin’ down beside the guy. ‘Folks ‘round here don’t call the cops ‘less somebody’s dead. They like dealin’ with things themselves. Fer example, if some fucker breaks into yer house in the middle of the night, well not a single fella in the whole goddamn town of Letterkenny’s gonna so much as cough if that man gets the tar taken outta him and shows up in the ditch the next day, one foot already in hell. I think that’s pretty interestin’, don’t you?’ The skid weakly nods. ‘Good. If I ever see yer face ‘round here again, I’ll break both yer legs and make ya walk all the way back to Toronto or whatever shitsink you crawled out from.’

 

When he stands up he’s got a six-inch switchblade imbedded in his arm. He stares down at it, almost confused about how it ended up there, ‘fore lookin’ up at the bundle of folks gathered in the back lot to watch the ruckus.

‘Darry, I think I might need ya to drive me to the hospital,’

‘That’s a Texas-size 10-4, Super Chief.’

After that, nobody’s under any delusions regardin’ who’s the Toughest Guy in Letterkenny.

 

They take the sleds out that winter and Wayne breaks his arm tryin’ to do a jump off a bank; the sled tilts on its side in midair and lands on top of him, and Darry has to pull it off. The girls ride back on Katy’s sled and Darry keeps a cantankerous Wayne on his seat, ‘cos he can’t very well drive the thing with one hand. Darry’s more glad than he’ll ever be able to say out loud for the fact that they’re wearin’ snow pants, ‘cos he pops a boner the second that he feels Wayne pressed up against his back like that.

 

At New Year’s, a drunk-as-a-skunk Wayne tells Darry he’s in love with Angie, and is pretty well sure she’s gonna be his sweetie fer the rest of his life. Darry asks a couple’a skids fer some low-grade coke that night and things get pretty hairy for a while.

Squirrelly Dan thinks it’s funny at first, and Wayne’s callin’ him a de-gen ticks Darry off more’n it embarrasses him, so he doesn’t quit. It starts out fun, Darry feels like a god, and he’s got more pzazz than a ripper from Las Vegas. But in not too long it gets to be so bad that he can’t get up fer chorin’ in the mornin’ without havin’ a bump, and he starts havin’ withdrawals if he goes fer more’n two days without schneef. The skids start cuttin’ the stuff with meth and Darry pretends not to notice.

 

The first time he fucks a guy is when a couple’a hockey players from an away team are in town gettin’ smashed at Modean’s after they whup the Irish in a shutout. Darry realizes he’s ‘bout as straight as a broken nose when he makes eyes with the away team’s left-winger; a hardman with two-cent brains and million dollar legs named Mike. 

Now Darry doesn’t know too much about Hair Shows or the Unnecessary Squeeze-Bys or any of the other things Wayne seemed to be born knowin’ about— but he sure as shit can spot the big eyes on the bearded hockey player with shoulders like a billboard. Darry buys him a Puppers and the guy asks him if there’s anywhere ‘round here a fella can take a load off.

They fuck in the back of Darry’s van. He tells Mike to come back to Letterkenny anytime he wants; Darry’s got nowhere else to be. He’ll roll in ‘bout once a month, not great conversation, but at least he gives it to Darry from behind, and don’t smell like barnyard like everything else in this fucking town.

 

His twenty-first birthday rolls ‘round and Wayne goes huntin’ for him, livid as all hell, ‘cos Darry’d skipped out on his super soft party what Katy’d been plannin’ fer pert near two weeks. Nobody can find him, and soon folks start to get worried.

Wayne starts drivin’ his truck ‘round town, ’til finally on a whim he goes up to the quarry, where he finds Daryl sittin’ with his legs hangin’ over the edge like when they’d been kids.

 

‘Darry, the hell have you been? Whole damn town’s gone manhunt over ya. Where the hell’s yer phone? Katy’s been on the verge of callin’ down CSI for the last two hours.’

‘Tossed it,’

‘Into the quarry? Now why the hell would you do a two-cent thing like that?’

‘Don’t need it anymore,’

Things get real quiet after Darry says that, ‘cos Wayne realizes that Darry’s got a quarter bottle of Gus’n’Bru sittin’ beside him, and he’s talkin’ like he’s blitzed outta his head. He peers between his boots at the dark below; ya can’t see the bottom at nighttime, and it’s almost peaceful to look at.

‘Darry, why don’t you come off from there?’

‘You always said you thought you’d survive the drop down there,’ Darry mumbles. ‘but y’know I always figured you’d be sayin’ hello to St. Peter.’

‘I’m not anxious to test the theory, Dar,’

Without warning, Darry hucks the bottle over the edge; there’s an unsettling amount of silence before the bottle smashes into bits on the rocks below. Darry grunts.

‘“ _A fella could survive a fall like that_ ” my ass, d’ya wanna know—’

He doesn’t get to say what, ‘cos Wayne’s gone and snuck up behind him; he tosses an arm ‘round Darry like a seatbelt and hauls him up and off the brink, tossin’ him in the dirt ‘bout ten feet away, puttin’ himself between Darry and the ledge.

 

‘Are you fuckin’ preoccupied?’ Darry hollers, his throat hoarse.

‘Yer sittin’ there talkin’ ‘bout whether a fella could survive a jump into the quarry and yer askin’ if _I’m_ preoccupied? Figure it out.’

‘I was askin’ in the hypotheticals.’

‘Sure ya fuckin’ were. How much coke’ve you done today?’

‘Fuck off,’

‘I ain’t kiddin’, Darry, it was all fun’n’games when ya usedta get all wired up, yammerin’ ‘bout how you were gonna learn French and sayin’ that you could do more pushups than anybody in Letterkenny— but yer pert near skid material of late. Sort yerself out.’

‘Ya know I’ve been constipated as a donkey lately? I just figured out it’s ‘cos yer wedged so far up my colon nothin’ else can get through.’

‘Somebody’s gotta be up yer ass, ‘cos clearly you can’t stand straight without an assist.’

Darry passes a hand over his face and turns, startin’ down the hill. Wayne follows him down to where the truck’s parked, and Darry climbs in, slammin’ the door so hard the whole cab shakes. Wayne starts down the laneway and Darry cracks the window; the smell of fertilizer and barley thick in the hot Summer air. He can barely see straight, but those smells always brought him back somewhere he didn’t wanna be.

‘Can’t ya just be a casual alcoholic like the rest of the folks ‘round here?’ Wayne mutters and Darry throws him a look.

‘Didn’t wanna end up like my Ma,’

‘Aw sure, ‘cos yer doin’ so much better,’

‘Tread very lightly in those twelve-and-a-halfs, Super Chief,’ Darry warns. The car goes over a bump and his stomach turns. ‘Pull over,’

‘What?’

‘Said pull over,’

‘Why?’

‘Said pump the fuckin’ breaks or I’m liable to spit in yer truck,’

 

The truck screeches to a halt and Darry throws open the passenger side door barely in time to spill his guts all over the shoulder of the road. Wayne sighs heavily.

‘I’m ‘bout to take a fuckin’ migraine over here, bud.’

Darry sits with one hand on the door, half-in half-out of the truck, his vision swimmin’ ‘bout as well as the inbred cat what lives in the barn. The truck’s still runnin’ and the scent of exhaust fills his nose; for a minute he’s fifteen years old again.

 

‘I miss ‘er,’ He mumbles, and then spits again. He slides out of the truck, using the door to keep himself upright, when Wayne rounds from the back and rests a hand on Darry’s back, makin’ small circles. Darry’s stomach contracts once more and his legs pert near give out beneath him.

‘Can’t stay cross at ya when yer knockin’ on death’s door like ya got a personalized invitation.’

‘Fancy cursive RSVP,’ Darry adds. He spits again— there’s less in it, and he feels like he’s ‘bout done by this stage.

‘Well it’s most likely a party in yer honour.’

‘Sorry I skipped out on my super soft birthday,’ Darry says thickly.

‘Katy’s the one ya gotta apologize to. Maybe when ya don’t smell like the inside of Modean’s toilet.’

‘I gotta stop, don’t I?’

‘That’s a Texas-size 10-4, Big Shoots,’

‘Don’t know how,’

‘Well ya don’t gotta do it all by yer singularness, Dar. I heard some folks done tie themselves to a tree to sweat it out.’

‘If it’s all the same to you, think I’d rather wait this one along in my bedroom,’

‘S’pose that’s fair enough.’

 

It takes a while but he gets there. Wayne goes by the skids and tells ‘em if they try to sell Darry so much as a toothpick he’ll clean their clocks so bad they won’t be able to tell themselves apart. Only time anybody ever hears Wayne raise his voice at Angie is when she calls Darry a tweaker and tells him he’d be better off followin’ in his Ma’s footsteps.

He starts gettin’ up fer chorin’ in the mornin’, takin’ cold showers and eatin’ yogurt cups right to the scrapes. He didn’t realize how much weight he’s lost ’til he starts growin’ it back, an his coveralls fit him better. He starts chainsmokin’, but folks figure it’s a more acceptable version of killin’ yerself, so Wayne and Katy let that one slide.

 

Wayne’s folks get killed on the night of their twenty-fifth anniversary; some kids what were from the high school crashed into ‘em head-on when they were on their way home from dinner at that fancy bistro outside of town. Katy and Wayne sit on the couch motionless while the townie cop tells them what happened, Wayne with the dog in his lap, his face buried in her side. He finally looks up when Darry breaks out the Gus’n’Bru, and his eyes are redder than barn paint.

Wayne inherits the farm and Katy gets the cabin up in Muskoka; she sells it to some ritzy prick from the city without tellin’ anybody that there’s no hot water. Darry almost has a coronary when he finds out that Wayne’s folks left him fifteen grand to “help him buy his own goddamn place” as it says in the will. He buys the lot where his old house sits in shambles and tears it down— him and Dan and Wayne work at rebuildin’ the place in bits and pieces. Wayne never says too much.

There’s no need to repress rage in a small town, ‘cos a fella can always find someone to knock around if he wants. All it takes is a, “Who do ya think yer lookin’ at, pal?” and the next minute yer havin’ a donnybrook in the parkin’ lot of a KFC on toonie-Tuesday. Wayne starts beatin’ the piss outta every de-gen and city dink what comes through Modean’s and mouths off.

 

They’re at the go-karts when some bleach-blonde dildo salesman asks Wayne what it’s like to fuck yer cousin. Darry has to help out on that one, on account of the guy’s buddy with the Livestrong bracelet and backwards Canucks cap. Everything’s pretty much even durin’ the whole thing ’til the guy Wayne’s fightin’ busts a beer bottle and starts wavin’ it around like a sword. He opens up Wayne’s hairline ‘fore Wayne hits him in the solar-plexus and the prick crumples up like wrappin’ tissue.

That’s when Angie’s ban on fightin’ appears. Darry’s not privy to the argument ’til after it’s settled, and they’re sittin’ out front the produce stand with a couple’a Puppers, and Wayne looks like somebody’s stuck a steel rod up his ass.

 

‘S’gonna be pretty fuckin’ hard to prove yer the Toughest Guy in Letterkenny without actually throwin’ hands.’

‘Don’t have to prove shit; everybody knows.’ Wayne takes a pull from his beer.

Squirrelly Dan is staring, almost openmouthed. ‘Why if she doesn’t have yer cajones just hangin’ like decoratives on her corkboard.’

‘If you don’t settle down I’m gonna come over there and talk to ya,’

‘And do what?’ Darry mutters. Wayne gives him a glare.

‘Mind yer Ps and Qs, Daryl.’

‘Wayne’s, you’s loves fightin’s guys.’

‘Comes a time in a man’s life where there are things he loves more’n himself, and Angie’s one of ‘em. So shut the fuck up and drink yer beer.’

Darry wants to get high. Instead he texts Mike.

 

Katy throws a barn party and the music’s so goddamn loud that Darry’s ears are still ringin’ three days later. He wakes up the mornin’ after the party nestled beside Wayne’s cow and Stormy, wearin’ nothin’ but his drawers, a baseball cap that don’t belong to him, and one work boot. He finds Squirrelly Dan propped up snoozin’ against the barn doors with a chicken in his lap covered in so many magic marker cocks that he’d have to run his whole body through the spare parts cleaner, and Katy makin’ breakfast in the kitchen like she didn’t drink more tequila than a Mexican on Cinco de Mayo.

‘Go wake up the boys,’ She orders. ‘So they can eat while it’s still hot.’

Darry finds Wayne in the loft up in the barn buck-naked asleep on a straw bale, Angie tucked under one arm. For a moment his throat dries out looking at the freckles on Wayne’s shoulders and the fine blonde hair on his lower back, ‘fore he grabs the hose and douses the two of ‘em with water colder’n the St. Lawrence in January. Wayne’s not bold enough to chase him down without some pants, so Darry makes it back to the breakfast table unscathed.

 

That summer Darry dickers the neighbour from 300 bucks to 75 for a field car; Wayne, Squirrelly Dan, and Darry tear it around the back field doin’ figure eights and messy doughnuts— they start talkin’ ‘bout fixin’ it up enough to run it in the demolition derby at the Letterkenny Fall Fair.

It costs more’n the car did itself to fix it up so it runs well enough, and they paint it white with a number 25 on it for Wayne’s folks.

‘Well I bought ‘er, so stands to reason I’d be drivin’,’

‘I gotta problem with that,’ Wayne says.

‘Get after it,’

‘You can’t barely drive the truck down the laneway without hittin’ the shoulder, and this takes some real crafty Paul Newman type stylin’ to win a derby in this piece of refuse tin can sedan.’

‘So you think yer the driver then?’

‘Well Darry, I didn’t say that, now, did I? No I didn’t. I think Dan oughtta do it.’

‘I bought it,’

‘Well’s Wayne’s I thinks Darry’s gonna get real bents ‘bout it if’s we don’t lets him drive.’

‘I think there’s no point enterin’ a contest ‘less ya think you’ve got a shot to win,’

‘Ya sayin’ I don’t have a shot?’

‘I’m sayin’ somethin’ alright,’

‘Whatcha sayin’?’

‘D’you wanna know what, Darry, I’m sayin’ I don’t think you’ve got a cat’s chance.’

‘I’ll perform, just you watch and see.’

 

Darry gets crushed between McMurray’s checkerboard corolla and some de-gen’s neon green racer; the whole world smells like gas and exhaust, the din of the crowd drowned out by the dozen or so dropped mufflers. The car’s still fightin’, but he’s got his back wheel stuck in a pothole and looks up just in time to see a charger mow right into the front of his field car. The whole front half buckles and suddenly it’s not quite so fun anymore as somethin’ sharp pokes into him through his jumpsuit and his whole right leg goes to sleep.

He throws up his red flag and the horns blare signalling the drivers to stop; his head’s already startin’ to get fuzzy and he’s pretty certain he’s nicked somethin’ important ‘cos his pant leg’s all wet and he knows he hasn’t gone’n pissed himself.

 

He looks up in time to see Wayne vault the barricade, runnin’ so fast his momentum carries him right into Darry’s door. It’s busted in, so Wayne can’t get it open.

‘What’s the fuss Big Shoots?’

‘Wayne, I think somethin’s wrong, I can’t feel my leg,’ He can’t help the fear that leaks out into his voice.

‘Take a breath, Dar, they’re gonna pull ya out in a tick,’ Wayne looks over his shoulder and starts wavin’ over the EMTs on stand-by.

‘Gotta get me outta here, Wayne, Jesus, somethin’s wrong.’

 

Wayne reaches a hand through the driver’s window and grabs Darry’s shoulder, their eyes even with one another. ‘Ain’t no reason to get excited, Darry. We’re gonna pull ya right outta there, okay? Yer gonna be fine.’

 

A piece of metal, most like from the bumper, was imbedded in Darry’s thigh, a hair’s breadth from a vital artery, accordin’ to the doctors in the hospital. He’ll walk just fine, and he won’t have any trouble with it once the scar heals on up— but he’s not like to have any feelin’ in that leg fer the rest of his life. He wakes up after surgery and Wayne’s asleep sittin’ up in the chair next to his bed.

 

Angie starts cheatin’ on him in October and Wayne don’t find out about it until March, when someone snaps a chat of her kissin’ some prick in bright aqua board-shorts and a fuckin’ infinity scarf at a St. Patty’s Day party. Knowin’ Wayne’s not the type of prick to be vengeful, Darry seeks justice for him, and pisses in the box of Angie’s shit Wayne leaves in the front hall fer her to pick up.

 

They’re sittin’ in the canoe just past five in the mornin’; they’ve not really talked about it and Darry knows it’s impolites to ask, so the two’s of them just float in silence for the longest time.

‘S’pose I oughtta get back on the horse sometime,’ Wayne finally says.

‘Well ideally you wouldn’t cut yerself to a life of celibacy when’s this’s s’posedta be the prime rib of our existences,’ Darry confirms.

Wayne _hmmmmm_ ’s and Darry waits.

‘D’you mind if I say somethin’?’

‘Less you say now, less ya have to apologize fer later,’ Wayne replies and Darry goes quiet again. After a moment, Wayne cocks one eyebrow and looks at him. ‘Pitter patter, then.’

‘I don’t think Angie’s the one girl yer s’posedta end up with, and I don’t s’pose I ever thought that.’

‘Thanks fer the vote of confidence Don Cherry, I’m real pepped after that talk, fuck.’

‘Pump the breaks there Super Chief, I wasn’t done yet.’

‘Get after it then,’

‘I think ya’s oughtta be with somebody who makes ya happy all the time, not just some of ‘em. Ya don’t need somebody who goes ‘round actin’ like everything’s gotta be from a scale of one to ten— ya just gotta be ‘round a guy who’s gonna take ya fer whoever ya are that day.’

‘Girl,’

‘What?’

‘ _You_ said, “gotta be ‘round a guy”,’

‘Did neither,’

‘You did,’

‘Well if I did, I meant girl, and anyways I didn’t say it.’

Wayne grunts. Darry hurries on.

‘Angie was always tryin’ to get ya to be somebody who wasn’t you and I think the time she started cheatin’ was ‘round the same beat she realized she couldn’t do it.’

‘It’s impolites to talk about,’ Wayne says, and Darry knows that’s the conversation finished. He looks out over the water, a tug on his line. He gets as hyped as a dog what smells a cat in heat and stands; the canoe rocks dangerously and ‘fore he has a second to think about tryin’ to right himself, the two of ‘em are in the lake.

‘Ya got ‘bout as much order as a Jackson Pollock, dipshit,’ Wayne hollers, but Darry’s got the giggles and soon enough the two of ‘em are wresslin’, tryin’ to dunk the other in the lake. They haul the canoe to shore and sit on the grass, waitin’ fer the sun to dry ‘em out. Wayne looks fuckin’ pretty with water all over his face and in his hair and Darry hasta stop lookin’ ‘fore he says somethin’ even dumber than usual.

 

It’s just past one in the AM and Darry’s got himself in a scrap in the back lot of Modean’s. He’s half-cut after polishing off most a bottle of Gus’n’Bru, and some dipshit from outta town flicked a lit dart at him while he was havin’ a spit next to the garbage bins. Now ordinarily Darry isn’t one to go lookin’ for a tilt— that’s Wayne’s game —but Darry’s feelin’ particularly riled up lately, so when he whips around to the guy, and grabs ‘em by the back of his shirt, he’s not really thinkin’ about the sensibilities.

There ain’t no goddamn thing worse than throwin’ hands with a chatterbox.

‘You think you’re tough, huh bud? Think again.’

Darry squints at the guy. ‘Dukes up’n shut up.’

‘I’ve taken shits more solid than you.’ The guy slaps his own face. ‘I’ll give you the first one for free, two-for-one, ya pigeon.’

‘Square up, fer fuck’s sake.’ Darry hocked a loogie and the guy gave a toothy grin.

‘Got a little extra cum still stuck in your throat, you fuckin’ fag?’

Somethin’ goes red in Darry’s eyes and he clocks the guy a hard one right in the nose. He feels something fracture under his hand and the guy rocks back, his arms windmilling for balance. For a second, it looks like it’s gonna be a one-hit-wonder, and Darry starts goin’ fer his darts, when somebody grabs his shoulder and spins him around into a hard left-hook, right above his eyebrow.

He knows it’s gonna be bad. The guy’s got pals, and Wayne’s inside, unawares, drinkin’ and dancin’, so Daryl’s by his singularness. He starts to holler for help, but he gets another pop against his mouth and tastes blood. The chatterbox is up on his feet, again, Darry gets a knee to the sternum, and all of the sudden he realizes that this ain’t a scrap, it’s a jump.

He throws his arms up to protect his head, winds up on his knees, his face in the gravel; that knee knocked the wind outta him, and when he rolls over on his side he sees a boot. A foot out of his vision connects between his shoulders and at the base of his neck, and the next one lands neatly against his cheekbone. He’s lucky; if the guys had been from Letterkenny, they’d’ve been in work boots, and that woulda busted Darry’s face into splinters. As it was, the guy was wearin’ a pair of cloth sneakers with no tread. Darry’s mouth is full of blood when he coughs out a laugh, he takes some satisfaction that it sprays on the guy’s feet.

‘Fuck, lookit those ballet flats, Swan Lake. Yer dick the same size as yer feet?’

He gets another kick in the back; it cuts his breath in the middle. The chatterbox drops to one knee and hauls Darry half up by the front of his shirt.

‘Teach ya to fuck with me, you goddamn hick.’

Darry musters just enough breath to spit blood in the guy’s face before he gets a goodnight.

 

He comes to when somebody starts hollerin’, but he can barely open his eyes. His whole body aches, the blood has caked in his nostrils, but breathin’ through his mouth hurts his throat. There are hands on his face, gently guiding his gaze back to the above— where he still can’t see. But he can hear.

‘Fuck bud, fuck, you got yourself real tuned up Dar. Jesus. Fuck. Darry. Darry, can ya hear me?’

He tries for words but only manages a groan.

‘What in the goddamn hell did you do to get yerself this totalled?’

Darry can hear the back door come open and he can hear Katy’s unmistakeable “ _shit_ ”

‘They took his wallet,’ Wayne’s voice is terse, loud. It echoes in the back of Darry’s head. He does his best to open his eyes, and the silhouette of Wayne’s face appears, muddy, in Darry’s vision. He can’t help himself, he reaches up and catches the front of Wayne’s shirt. He tugs, and starts the labour-intensive process of sitting up. It feels like someone has lit his back on fire.

‘We have to take him to the hospital, he could have a concussion,’ Katy says. Wayne’s hand wraps around Darry’s upper arm and tosses it over his broad shoulder.

‘They’re not gonna tell him to do a fuckin’ thing other’n sleep and don’t look at any screens fer a week. We’ll just take him home.’

‘Wayne,’

‘Katy, now’s not the time to argue ‘bout this. Now’s the time to take Darry home, and then figure out _who the fuck is gonna get_ _their head ground beneath my size twelve and a halfs._ ’ Wayne’s shouting and Darry can feel the words beneath the crook of his elbow, and under the clenched fistful of Wayne’s shirtfront he’s using to stabilize himself. He tugs, once, and Wayne’s head swivels over to Daryl’s. The two of them are huddled closer than they’ve ever been before, so close that Darry can feel the heat of Wayne’s breath, and just barely make out the blonde tips of Wayne’s eyelashes. His ribs hurt, one of ‘em has _gotta_ be cracked, but he soldiers on.

‘Wayne,’ The name stabs across the front of his chest. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be alright.’

‘Darry, if you could see yerself right now, you wouldn’t be sayin’ that. So forgive me if I ain’t gonna take advice from a man with one foot already in the grave.’

That’s about the moment that Darry loses consciousness again. 

 

He comes to an indeterminate number of hours later, when a hand touches his shoulder and a bedside lamp turns on.

Wayne’s voice is softer than Darry’s ever heard it. ‘Hey Super Chief, sorry. The internet says to wake ya every three hours.’

There’s a glass of water and three extra-strength aspirin sitting on the nightstand, and Darry don’t know much, but he knows that Wayne looks like shit. He tries to sit up, but there’s a stab of pain in his side and he grunts instead. He’s not in his coveralls— stripped down to his boxers and undershirt —tucked under the blanket on his bed at Wayne’s place.

‘What the fuck happened to you?’ He croaks, and Wayne smirks and lights a dart.

‘Went back into town after we brought ya home, found the de-gens what cleaned your clock, taught ‘em what happens when you fuck with a guy’s best pal in Letterkenny.’

‘You didn’t go by yourself, didja?’

‘Brought Joint Boy and Squirrelly Dan with me.’ He gingerly tested a bruise on his cheek with his fingers. ‘They made off worse, don’t you worry.’

‘Katy’s liable to spit fire if she finds ya smokin’ in the house.’

‘Well she ain’t gonna find out, now, since the only eyes here are yours, and you’re gonna say ‘bout as much as a tree stump, that right?’

‘So long’s you give me a drag of that dart right this minute.’

Wayne passes it along, and for a moment their fingers overlap with one another; a fire travels through Darry’s hand, all the way up his arm and into his throat. He tries to convince himself that it’s from the beating.

‘How’re ya feelin’?’ Wayne asks, and Darry exhales with a wince.

‘Oh just perfect. I could go ten rounds with McMurray in a pond-hockey shootout. Pat me on the back an’ point me where the wind blows.’

Wayne takes a deep drag on the dart and shakes his head a little. ‘D’you wanna know what, Dar, you pert near gave me a fuckin’ coronary when I came out for a smoke’n you were just lyin’ there on the ground like you’d been fuckin’ shanked.’ There’s a quiet between them, and Wayne shakes his head again. ‘Scared me half to death.’

Darry isn’t quite sure what to say. ‘Well, I’m still kickin’, so ain’t no reason to get excited.’

‘Yeah,’ And for a moment, just a flicker, there’s somethin’ on Wayne’s face that Darry’s never seen before. It’s soft. Not 10-ply soft— an unsheltered, open expression that Daryl can’t quite put a name to. Their eyes meet for half a second, before Wayne slaps his knee and stands abruptly. ‘Well, get some sleep. Gettin’ busted don’t take ya off the line for a day of hay.’ He grins and throws a wink at Darry, before reachin’ for the bedside lamp. ‘See ya in three hours, bud.’

Wayne closes the door without so much as a look-back, and it hurts Darry more’n a busted rib or a kick to the face ever did. He sits in the darkness for a few minutes, ‘fore he slides on his back and stares at the ceiling, waiting for fatigue to catch up with him.

**Author's Note:**

> fUCK folks, I'd like to thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos on the first work in this series-- "Through the Fuckin' Windshield" --and just let you all know that your kind words and kudos really did help me decide to finish the second part of this series. If it is as well-received as the first was, I may write another fic I've had in the back of my head, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.
> 
> I'm actually from Canada, I'm very well-versed in Canadian slang, so please let me know if there's anything that you need clearing up.
> 
> Also, please do yourself a favour if you have not watched this already, in order to get acquainted with Mike: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFcRZQ92GSk


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